


La Force du Loup est le Pack

by Melsheartsthings



Series: Musketeers AU's [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: All the angst and drama, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Athos is not drunk all the time just when dealing with Milady's drama gets to be too much for him, D'Artagnan is still the 'Apprentice Musketeer', Drunk Athos, F/M, Gen, Milady causes Drama but what's new, Milathos has even more issues in this story, Milathos is going to need about twenty chapters straight to fix their problems, POV Multiple, Protective Athos, Rochefort is still really bad news, Vamp!Milady, Vampires, Werewolf!Musketeers, Werewolves, and eventually everything will work out as much as it ever does for Milathos, but this fic isn't just about Milathos so they have to share the spotlight, i listen to it when writing this, like for reals, pack dynamics with the musketeers, she also gets Athos all hot and bothered, this fic has it's own playlist on my phone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4866344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melsheartsthings/pseuds/Melsheartsthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their respective species hate each other, but they'd fallen in, and then out of, love. But now they must work together for the good of France and try to avoid falling back into their old love/hate relationship whilst building a new, honest, loving one. A Werewolf/Vampire AU for the Musketeers.  (Wherein Athos, Aramis, Porthos, & D'Artagnan are Weres, and Milady is a Vamp.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Force du Loup est le Pack

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my attempt at a Werewolf/Vampire AU.

"What is she doing here?" "She shouldn't able to get in here!" "Somebody explain why in the world there is a vampire in our den? They're not supposed to be able to cross the threshold." "Don't they have to be invited in to enter a place?" These comments come from several other musketeers. Then D'Artgnan asks, quietly, "Aramis, what's happening? What's wrong?" "Milady.. She's what happening, she's what's wrong, D'Artagnan. She's broken all the rules." A low, guttural growl from the other side of D'Artagnan suggests how even Porthos, their dear, Court of Miracles raised, compassionate, gentle Porthos, must be feeling. "Porthos, contain yourself." Aramis snaps at him. "Come in, wife," is all Athos says, the words a low deep utterance that sounds almost like a growl instead of a spoken sentence. "ATHOS! EXPLAIN.YOURSELF. NOW." This comes from Treville. "Not here. Not where they can all hear. Later. My room. Just us. And her. And you, of course, Captain." "EVERYBODY QUIET!" This is from Milady and the shock of being told to be silent by a vampire, of all creatures, is enough to silence them all. All of them, except Athos who is snarling and sending narrow eyed predatory death glares to his estranged wife as she crosses the threshold and stops dead in her tracks pinned by the force of his glaring. 

After a few minutes of this quietness broken only by his own snarls, Athos stalks to where Milady stands bold as brass, as proud as a ruling queen, just inside the entrance to the garrison, and pulls her by the front of her dress all the way across the courtyard and into an empty stall in the stables. "What in hell are you doing here, wife?" How close he is to her, the heat of him, of his anger, the force of it rolling off of him in waves, the hate and fire (and just a hint of barely repressed desire for her still) in his bright blue green (now flecked with gold) eyes, and the way he twists the word 'wife' into a low guttural warning growl and a byword for 'liar', 'whore', 'bitch', instead of the loving caress of a whisper or peased post lovemaking howl or the gentle joyful call after returning from a hunt or full moon run, of five years ago,which feels like a lifetime ago, all of it ought to frighten her. But there's the scent of alcohol (wine, the still logical part of her brain whispers) on his breath, and in his blood, under the woodsy, earthy, utterly wolfish smell of him mixed with the leather of his uniform and the gunpowder in his pistol and the sharp steel of his blade,(this is how she knows his scent now, woods, earth, wolf, wine, leather, gunpowder and steel. Once upon a time, a lifetime ago, all of five short years ago, she knew his scent as wood, earth, wolf, fine wine, fine clothes, fine everything and desire, oh so much desire) that she has to stop pretending to breath for a minute,to calm herself and to keep from closing what little distance remains between them and kissing him until he forgets anyone but she and he himself exist in the world, until they forget what they both are, what their respective species are and that they're supposed to hate each other, and all the horrors and complications of their past. "It's not safe. And you're not wanted nor welcome here." Her response is just as swift, and cold, "I had to see you, husband mine," And she layers everything into those last two words, her desire, her hate, her sorrow, her anger, her pain, her love, and her sensuality, and most of all her certainty that they both are still bound together, "I had to warn you. You're all in danger, you and your friends and your Captain. And D'Artagnan's sweet Constance is definitely caught in the trap forming around you and your friends. Warn him to warn her. And it could perhaps even harm the King and Queen. And the little Dauphin." His next words are harsh and she can catch the hint of the growl he's biting back until he speaks the name she's chosen, and then it's not a hint of one, but the real thing, "Why should I trust you speak truth, Milady? You've been our enemy, and mine, for some time now." Her answer is as clear and bright as the peals of the bells of Notre Dame itself, and as soft as the smallest of the bells too, so just he can hear the words she speaks, "Because I walked into this den of wolves to find you, because i'm risking my very life to give you this information, because I came to you, not to Treville, or to Porthos, or to Aramis, or to D'Artagnan, but to you. To my husband. To my liege lord, to le Comte de la fere, because I come as your wife, as la Cometesse de la fere. Because I come as your beloved Anne, not the Cardinal's spy and assassin or the King's mistress, not Milady de Winter.. Because I come to you as your mate, to you as yours entirely, Athos, to do with as you will. And because of this." Moving her left hand with the speed her kind is best known for, she slips something into his right hand, wraps his fingers closed around it. And she knows he recognises the shape of it, the meaning of it, of their locket, even as she pulls her hand back in a motion so quick it will seem to their audience that she hadn't moved at all. "I come as only Anne," she repeats. And then as he slips it into his pocket, his quiet broken gasp of a sob of the name he knows her best by, of the name she feels is most truly hers, "Anne," is swallowed by her lips and she finds him responding to her sudden kiss, feels his left hand release the front of her dress and wrap itself in her hair, undoing her stylish hairdo, while his right arm winds around her waist and pulls her closer. The whistles and jeers and howls from the courtyard just beyond reminds them of their audience and she tries to break free from his grip but his hands tighten ever so slightly on her waist and in her hair, and his lips press harder against hers and when his tongue licks at her lips slowly, shly, so unlike the sure, purposeful way of five years ago, she slips them open enough to allow him entrance and then for a moment as she closes her eyes and continues to kiss him back, she feels as though they are back in the stables at their country estate during the early, happy, halcyon days of their marriage, before it all went wrong, and stealing a moment to just be Anne and Athos and not the Comte et Cometesse de la fere. When he finally breaks away for breath, a reminder that he is less immortal then she, she whispers to him, in his ear, as he has not pulled away from her entirely, just broken their kiss, "Did you feel it too? That we could just be Anne and Athos again? That we could lay the spy and assassin and the Musketeer to rest? That our roles as Comte and Cometesse could be put to rest just for a while? And we could just be those two carefree souls in love once more? Athos, please say something." His reply is but a breath, a plea, a prayer, a whisper, a hope, a blessing, her absolution, and a benediction (and now she sounds like Aramis, and she does not want to sound like him, at all), her truest name in her own ear, "Anne, Anne, Anne, Anne. Oui. I do feel it. I want it, if you are truly sincere.Anne, please. No more lies." With one last kiss and a whisper against her Athos' lips of, "yes, yes, yes. I am sincere. I have never been more sincere in all my life, Athos," she breaks from his grasp, slides away from him. Then she slips into the light of the courtyard of the wolfish Musketeers, thankful for the small ring on her right ring finger that protects her from even the fading light of the evening, and says louder than perhaps strictly necessary as the garrison has fallen silent, shocked by their display, their moment of mutual weakness and desire, and for a moment she can feel the well worn, complicated, expressionless mask of Milady falling back into place across her face, "Captain, I have news of vital importance for you and Aramis, and Porthos, D'Artagnan and Athos. I need to speak to the five of you in private." And if when she says 'Athos', her tone softens slightly, lightens, if her whole expression brightens, and she truly smiles, and her Milady mask breaks completely (and Anne de la fere knows that she has worn it with these men for the last time), no one can blame her after the display she and Athos put on a few minutes past. 

 

"Will my office suffice, Milady?" The Captain offers in response to her announcement. "Anne," the fierceness of the sound of her own true name from Athos' mouth out loud for all to hear shocks her for a moment as he steps out into the light (even as fading as it is, even with the protective ring on her finger, the daylight still makes her skin tingle. Yet somehow, Athos' touch stops the tingling the light causes. That it starts a whole new tingling sensation which starts where he touches her skin and spreads all across her body is a different matter all together and one that no one save the two of them ever needs to know), next to her, and possessively pulls her to his side. "Her name is Anne. Or la Cometesse de la fere. She is my wife. And more importantly, she is my mate. And you will all treat her with the respect that she deserves, in light of that." The last part of that comment is directed at the garrison at large. The stunned looks on the faces of her husband's fellow Musketeers, even his Captain, and especially those of his three closest friends, come as no surprise to Anne, la Cometesse de la fere, wife of the Musketeer Athos, le Comte de la fere. She smiles and tilts her head up, proudly displaying today's choker (which even here and now, even with their past starting to finally heal, she will not remove, not where the others can see anyways), and it is not the smile she reserves for Athos, but a haughty smile and a movement of her head better suited to a stuck up lady of the Queen's court. One that suggests that the comte and comtesse de la fere are finally starting to move past and work through their problems and issues. They still have yet to work any of them fully out, but they can finally start now that they have begun to agree on what they are to each other. In the pregnant silence following her now not so estranged husband's words, a sudden thought of realization comes to her, He has only ever called me Milady to them, and I have only ever been a vampire, an enemy, to them. And perhaps, that is what I used to deserve, when I was simply Milady, simply an enemy. But now, I am not. I've never been simply Anne, La Cometesse de la fere, Athos' wife, to any of these men before this moment. I've never been fairly, honestly linked to Athos in marriage or name to them. I've only ever been his estranged, supposedly dead wife and Milady de Winter to them. And he's certainly never declared I am his mate before. 

"And he is mine." Her words ring out as strong as the loudest Notre Dame bell, and seem to anger many of the wolf pack of Musketeers even more. But before they can pounce on her and tear her apart, Athos' friends and Captain fluidly and agilely step between the mob of angry, howling, growling wolfmen and Athos and her, and surround the pair of them in a tight enough circle that none of the unruly mob can reach them, all four of them with a hand on their sword's hilt, but the formation is loose enough that Athos can defend her if he needs to. Many of these men mean to tear me apart, and I am powerless to stop them. My own Athos aside, my powers of persuasion and my appeal are wasted on Musketeers. I am in more danger here than I ever was from the Cardinal, servant of Rome and pious man though he was. In more danger here then I am from Rochefort, conniving little traitor that he is. They'll kill me if they can. Kill Athos to reach me. Oh, Athos, what have I done? I've put you in danger just by coming here, love. We must get away from them. Athos, it seems, can all but read her thoughts on this matter as he hurries her up to the Captain's office without further delay, shielded as they are by the circle of his friends and Captain. The distressed, confused calls of most of the rest of the Musketeer pack follow the Comte and Cometesse de la fere up the stairs and the sounds are only momentarily silenced when they reach the Captain's office and Athos pulls the door shut behind them, temporarily locking out his friends. "Anne, oh, Anne, Anne, my Anne, my Cometesse, my beloved," he mutters, sweeping her off her feet, and breathing her in, and she takes this opportunity to fully memorize the changes in his face and his body that five years have wrought, the changes in his scent, and yet, he still smells so much of her truest home, of the de la fere estate, of their past, of everything she remembers of his scent, that she finds it hard to focus. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, against his chest, and she knows he will hear, his hearing is at least half as good as hers, and is actually better the closer they get to the full moon, so she continues, "I'm sorry I killed Thomas, I'm sorry I lied about my past, about who I was, about what I was, about so much. I'm sorry I went to work for the Cardinal, sorry I became the King's mistress, sorry I let Rochefort manipulate me. But this much is true, I always did, always have, and always will love you, Athos. We are bound to each other, forever. We belong together." And then the spell of romance and reconciliation is shaken, but not yet broken as Captain Treville and Athos' three friends approach the door and try the handle. "Oh, Anne," is all Athos replies, and the simplicity of her name in his most caring tone, in a voice full of love and sorrow, is enough to break down her walls even more, "and I am sorry I did not listen to or believe you, am sorry I had you hanged, am sorry I condemned you without first thinking about my options. I am sorry I exiled you from the city. I am sorry I treated you so poorly. We do belong together. We are husband and wife. Comte et Cometesse. And moreover, we are mates. And I will never hurt you in any way again, ma belle Chere, ma Anne." And then she is back on her feet, but still in his arms as his friends and his Captain finally step into Treville's office. She pulls out of the embrace, stepping slightly away from him, and she relishes in the small sigh that her few steps to put distance between them has emitted from Athos (teasing him will still be a favorite pastime for her in days to come), then she says "Captain," and two sets of eyes turn to her, and Athos' brilliant blue green eyes are ringed in gold, (and she half wonders just when the golden flecks she'd noted eariler changed into golden rings and she knows that the color is promising her that they will be busy later in his rooms, and it will be an enjoyably rough and wild encounter for the both of them) while Treville's eyes are as normal as they could possibly be, but there is a trace of defeat and tiredness in them, or so she thinks. And she is acting more like Milady de Winter with that thought than Athos' sweet, beloved Anne so she pushes it aside. "You're Captain, now?" She asks her husband, incredulous that he hadn't mentioned it sooner or bothered to warn her. "And you are no longer Captain, Treville?"

**Author's Note:**

> Milathos is complicated enough in canon, and now I throw the Werewolf/vampire issue in the mix... I'm sorry you two. I do really love you both.


End file.
